JxHQ: Natural Progression
by harlequin90
Summary: Harley's pretty new to this game, but she'll learn. An exploration of the psychological and physical aspects of their relationship. Rated NC-17.


_This is my first attempt at writing Comicverse Joker, so I'm a little bit anxious about sharing this! I think it's worked out all right; some bits could be better; but hey, I'll learn. Please R any crit or comment is gratefully received. Warnings for sexual situations and bloodplay; rated NC-17. As usual, I don't own anything or earn anything. :) _

He hadn't touched her since their first time.

Apart from to hit her, of course. That went without saying.

He wasn't a bully. It was just that she needed keeping in check, especially with her being so new to his organisation. She had to learn what was what.

The sex had been a mistake. Before it, she'd kept her distance, been in awe of him, frightened yet curious. Now she was outwardly flirtatious and confident and seemed to think she could _touch _him whenever she felt like it. He shuddered, his long white hands flexing, fingers positively itching to wrap themselves around a vulnerable throat. He'd been sitting on the sofa the morning after their brief and frankly rather boring sexual début (six, seven weeks ago? Time had no meaning for him), scanning the newspaper for articles about himself, when she'd entered the room, sat next to him without permission, and placed her hand over his, clearly seeking acknowledgement. He'd looked at her. Her face was bright, her round blue eyes shining with adoration, her lips plastered over with a sickly smile. He'd backhanded it off her face without a moment's hesitation.

He loved to see a smile, of course, but Harley's behaviour had signalled the return of her self-esteem, and for this to happen so soon after he'd conquered her at Arkham was horrifying and surprising. Perhaps he should have been rougher with her. Perhaps she was stronger than he'd previously thought. Whatever the reason, it was clear that he still had much more work to do to his masterpiece before she was complete. And oh, what a fine little work of art Harley Quinn was shaping up to be.

The Joker grinned, congratulating himself on the way he'd developed her, from the initial conception to a series of rough sketches through to the fleshing out with colour and texture (her harlequin suit, which had been a real stroke of genius in his opinion).

Oh yes.

He was nothing if not creative.

This ability needed to be pushed further. There were so many more shades of colour he could add.

So when he heard his harlequin's little footsteps on the wooden floor outside his bedroom, he smiled to himself and waited. She was hesitating beside his door; he heard the floor creak slightly and a tiny cough, as if she was testing her vocal strength in readiness for the announcement of her unplanned arrival. His smiled became wider. She may not even _have _vocal strength after tonight.

There was silence for perhaps thirty seconds. Then a small knock, which the Joker pretended not to hear.

Harley waited. _Good girl, _he thought. _She's finally learning her place. She knows to be patient._

Not patient enough. He counted merely ten seconds before her cute little voice piped up: "Hey, Mistah J?"

He gritted his teeth in irritation. _How dare she think she could just __demand__ his attention?_

He resisted the urge to get up, fling the door open, drag her into the middle of the corridor, and beat her senseless with his belt while kicking her repeatedly in the stomach. The image of blood trickling gently from her pretty rosebud lips flashed through his mind. Excitement pumped through his veins and the glass of water he was clutching shattered as his grip convulsed. A shard of glass punctured his palm and he hissed, violet eyes closing with agony and ecstasy.

Pain was the only thing he felt. It kept him _alive. _

"Puddin'?" Harley's concerned voice floated through the door. His eyes snapped open. She must have heard the pieces of glass fall to the floor, his tortured gasp.

He began to work the shard out of his flesh, then went to the bathroom and wrapped his hand in bandages. Just another scar to add to the collection. Harley was still outside when he came back into the bedroom, and he thought with a smirk how determined she was. How determined, and how _curious. _He could easily shout at her to leave, or shoot a few rounds at the door with his Magnum that he kept in the bedside drawer, but he wanted to see just how far she would tread. So he sat on the bed and waited again.

Eventually he saw the handle jerk downwards and the door creak open slightly.

"Mistah J?"

Harley pushed the door further, and he smirked as she entered the room, flushed with adrenaline and success, pleased that she'd got this far without being shot at or told off. But fear was glinting in her blue eyes, and with good reason. This was the first time she had seen the Joker's bedroom.

"Harley?" he said in a low voice, one dark eyebrow raised enquiringly.

"Hi Mistah J!" she squeaked. "I – I was just passing and I thought I'd ... look in ..."

Her voice trailed off as he slowly stood up. At over six feet tall he towered over Harley, who gulped as she watched him step closer. He gave her his most terrifying smile and at this she actually squealed and fumbled behind her for the door, unable to rip her frightened doe eyes away from his face. He snatched her wrist before she could escape and pulled her close, so close that the whole length of her body was pressed flush against his. His unblinking gaze met with Harley's baby blue eyes and she trembled within his grip, her teeth nibbling anxiously on her bottom lip.

"Do I _look _like I need checking on?"

"Well, I – I thought you might be lonely," she said, unable to keep the apprehension out of her voice. The Joker knew she was wishing she hadn't come, but she wasn't trying to pull away. His eyes held her almost hypnotised. He forced down a chuckle.

"Oh Harl," he purred, caressing her name with his tongue and brushing a loose strand of blonde hair back from her face, watching as she shuddered pleasurably, "you're always _so _caring. Remind me why I don't keep you around more?"

Harley squeaked again, but this time her face lit up and her eyes filled with pride and adoration.

"Well... You're so busy, Pud. I'd just distract ya if I was around all the time."

She smiled coyly. The Joker's grip tightened around her wrist. _Stupid girl! Thinks that I'll fall to my knees with every glance she gives me, does she? Thinks I'll be tempted away from my work by __her__? Perhaps it worked with her sweaty Psychology professors and her hormonal university peers, but she needs to learn. She needs to remember who I __am__._

His smile grew wider and he began to laugh darkly as his free hand reached inside his trouser pocket and pulled out a small pistol. He forced her backwards against the door, which slammed shut, and held her to it, one hand still tightening around her wrist while he jammed the pistol into the palm of her other hand. Harley gasped, scanning his face in fear, all traces of smugness wiped away.

"I wonder," the Joker mused, pressing himself against her, "would you be less... _distracting... _if I shot a hole through your hand? Do you think that would teach you not to be irritating while I was working? Hm?"

He twisted the pistol into her palm and saw Harley wince with pain.

"Well? Do you?" he snapped.

"I – I suppose so, Mistah J," she stammered.

"You suppose so." He cocked the pistol. She closed her eyes and bit her lip at the sound. "Why don't we see? Try a little experiment?"

"Please," she whispered.

The Joker's violet eyes narrowed and he smiled, red lips almost literally stretching from ear to ear. He bent closer to her and muttered, "Please..._what_?"

She was shivering against him; he could feel the sensation as his cheek brushed hers. He knew there were goose bumps along her neck without even seeing them.

"Please, Daddy, don't – " Harley took in a shuddering breath. "Don't shoot me. I – I won't distract you, I promise."

She leant into him, desperately trying to burrow her head between his neck and shoulder. The Joker relished the way she came to him for protection from...him. He smirked. She was fucked up, no doubt about that. And she'd done that to herself. He'd just shown her the right direction.

This was an interesting dilemma, he mused. Should he punish her so she'd know just how serious he could get? Or should he be kind and play Daddy, making it even more delicious when he finally brought her down?

He closed his eyes, thinking about the beautiful new bloody door decoration he'd have if he pulled the trigger, the high pitched screams of his little girl, the softly smoking gun barrel. He felt himself grow hard as these vivid visions sparked through his brain, and quickly pulled back from Harley, not wanting her to think she'd caused his arousal. He kept a firm grip on her wrist and continued to press the pistol into her other hand.

It occurred to him that it would be far more fun if he made it look as if Harley had the upper hand for a while, made it seem as if he wanted her – no, _needed _her. Her shock and disappointment when she discovered otherwise would be far greater. And she _would_ find out. She'd learn that it was _he_ who owned and controlled _her_, not the other way around.

So the Joker threw the pistol onto the bed behind him; let go of her wrist, which by now must be prickling with agony, and cradled her small body in his arms, making sure this time to press his erection against her. She stiffened, surprised, then relaxed and tentatively slid her arms around his slim waist. The Joker grinned into Harley's blonde hair as he speculated on what was running through her mind.

He kissed the top of her head, then brought his lips close to her ear and murmured, "Perhaps you're right, Harley-girl. Perhaps I am lonely. I can't deny that I've been thinking about you ... _wanting _you ... "

He felt her shudder with ecstasy, heard a small moan escape her lips, and smirked. The power he held over her was _fascinating._ She gripped his waist tighter and subconsciously shifted her hips upwards against his, and he continued with his game, his voice lower now, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke.

"Ever since our first night you've been on my mind, Harley." His grin widened and he whispered, "_I can still taste you_."

His little girl could hardly suppress a whimper. She lifted her lips to the base of his throat and began trailing kisses along his collarbone, one delicate hand reaching up to stroke the back of his neck.

"Well, Mistah J," she breathed in between kisses, "Why didn'tcha come and visit me in my room? I would've been there ... waiting for you."

Harley sighed against his skin and trailed a hand down his stomach towards his swelling arousal. _Little slut, _the Joker thought, resisting the urge to reach up and snap her neck. The temptation flooded his body like lust, screamed through the synapses in his brain and shook his flesh, and he had to close his eyes and picture something else otherwise before he knew it, Harley would be lying dead on the floor in a puddle of blood. When he opened his eyes and grabbed her hand, stopping it from travelling any further, Harley pulled back and gazed at him concernedly.

"Are you okay, Puddin'?"

The Joker smiled. "Perfectly okay, Pooh. It's just that ... well, I'm a little overwhelmed with all this passion. Why don't we lighten things up a bit?" And he chuckled. "Why don't we play a _game_?"

Harley looked puzzled, but she flashed him a smile. "Uh... sure, Mistah J. Whatever you say."

He chuckled again and untangled himself from her, then went to open his sock drawer. After rummaging about for a while, he finally pulled out what he was looking for – a six-shot revolver. He looked at Harley, grinning. She looked from him to the gun, a worried expression slowly forming on her pretty face.

The Joker snapped open the barrel and peered into it. One bullet. Perfect.

"Ever played Russian Roulette, doll-face?" he asked as he snapped it shut again.

He could have sworn he heard her gasp.

"R – Russian Roulette?" she stammered.

"You know the rules, right? Come here, baby. Daddy'll show you how to play."

The Joker held out a long white hand and gestured for her to come forward. Harley watched him fearfully for a while, biting her lip, then slowly began to cross the room, looking as if she were approaching a wild animal. He laughed softly.

"That's it, baby. Don't look so scared! Now. You spin the barrel, like this, see?" He demonstrated, and noticed a flicker of deadly fascination in Harley's eyes. He was impressed. The girl was plainly terrified, but somehow this still drew her. Was it insanity? Was she trying to please him? Or did she just like guns? The Joker suspected it was a mixture of all three.

"Then you hold the revolver to your head, like so." He held the barrel of the gun to his temple and Harley's eyes widened. "Now, I've got a one in six chance of blowing myself to Kingdom Come."

Harley made a convulsive movement, as if she was going to snatch the gun away from him, but somehow she managed to control herself.

"And then you pull the trigger."

The Joker smiled. Harley screamed but the revolver merely clicked, and he brought it away from his head.

"And there it is. A very simple game, Harl, but lots of fun. There's nothing quite like it for pumping a good healthy flow of adrenaline through your veins."

She stared at him. He held the gun out to her.

"Your turn."

Her lips parted slightly and for a second the Joker thought she would blurt out an excuse and make a run for the door, but after a while her eyes narrowed with determination and she took the revolver.

He giggled. "Good girl. Don't forget to spin the barrel first."

She did so, then placed the gun against her temple. Her eyes linked with his briefly, then she took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. Another sharp _click, _nothing more. The Joker shrieked with laughter, grabbed Harley around the waist, and swung her around. She was laughing too by the time he placed her back on the floor, and they both doubled over in hysterics, the Joker wiping tears from his eyes.

"Baby, you're the greatest," he said with a wink. She squeaked happily and leant against him, her fear and apprehension clearly gone.

_We'll see about that._

He pushed her away from him.

"Spin the barrel again."

Harley's smile vanished instantly and she glanced up at him.

"Do it!" he snapped.

She did as she was told. The Joker grabbed her wrist and forced the revolver against his own temple.

"Pull the trigger."

She gaped at him. "Mistah J..."

"Do it, Harley."

Her lip began to quiver. "I – I can't..."

"I told you to do it," the Joker growled. He grabbed her throat and began to squeeze, watching as her face slowly turned red. She choked and gasped for breath, but still did not pull the trigger. He continued to increase the strength of his grip. She was almost purple now, her eyes bulging.

"Please..." she rasped.

He pulled her close to him so that they were almost nose to nose, adrenaline pounding through his body. "_Pull the trigger._"

Were they tears?

A sharp click. The Joker let Harley go and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath, her hands gently massaging her throat. Suddenly she gagged, got up, and dashed into the bathroom.

"Clean your teeth before you come out!" the Joker shouted over the sound of her vomiting. He picked up the revolver from the floor, sat on the edge of the bed, and twirled it in his hands, admiring the way the light shone on the barrel. His Harley was a stoic girl. It seemed that she would rather kill herself than him. _How interesting, _he mused as he turned the gun over and over in his hands.

After a few minutes Harley came back from the bathroom, looking pale. Finger shaped bruises were already beginning to form and the Joker smiled, admiring the colours of his mark against her skin.

"I know what's going on, Puddin'," Harley said, placing her hands on her hips and somehow managing to look both put out and playful at the same time.

The Joker raised an eyebrow. "Oh you do, do you?"

She nodded. "Uh-huh. That gun," she pointed at the revolver in his hands, "doesn't have any bullets in it. You're messing with me."

"Is that so?"

She nodded again and he fired the gun into the ceiling. It went off this time with a bang; bits of plaster and debris rained down, powdering his dark hair, and he roared with laughter at the expression on Harley's face. She'd gone even whiter, her jaw dropping, her eyes wide with shock and fright.

"Hey, why the long face?" the Joker choked out in between his peels. "I didn't shoot _you._"

"But you – you – "

"It's a game of chance, doll, that's the whole point. One of Harvey's favourites, actually. We used to play it in Arkham when we could steal a gun off the guards."

He gave a high pitched giggle and then gestured to her. "You look like you need a hug from Daddy. Come here."

At this her eyes lit up and she ran over with her arms outstretched, just like a little kid, and threw herself on top of him. This took the wind out of him slightly, but he recovered quickly and gave Harley a smile that would soon make her forget he'd just tried to make her kill herself. Sure enough she beamed and squealed as she straddled him and put her arms around his neck, her eyes full of respect and glee. The Joker could have done without the contact but he adored the attention, and it was easy to command from his little harlequin-girl. She'd do _anything_ for him. He was impressed, he had to admit. He wasn't sure that she would go as far as to put a gun to her head for him, but she had, and this made him think of what else she would be prepared to do. Or to let _him _do.

The Joker grinned as he stared into her mad blue eyes. He'd purposefully fucked her gently the first time, making sure to lull her into a false sense of security. He'd only bitten her a couple of times (the only moments of excitement during the whole thing, in his opinion). Now he wondered if he ought to let Harley know what _he _liked. Enough of indulging her feminine namby-pamby pleasures; it was her time to humour _him. _

He'd play nice for a while.

Until he got bored.

Then Harley Quinn would find out what sleeping with the Joker really meant.

He smiled and kissed her deeply, digging his fingers into her soft waist, then moved his hands down to her rear and pulled her closer. Harley squealed into the kiss with a mixture of surprise, delight and pain at his tight grip, and wasted no time in pressing as much of her body against him as was humanely possible. She wriggled as she gripped his hips and waist between her thighs and returned the kiss passionately. She was so forceful that the Joker could feel himself losing balance; she'd end up on top in a minute. He righted himself with some effort, stood up, and took Harley with him, then leant down and laid her on the bed.

Geez, this kiss had gone on long enough. Harley was practically suffocation him. He needed air.

Breaking away from her, one knee on the bed, one foot on the floor, hands either side of Harley's upper body, the Joker grinned as she moaned with longing and the loss of contact. She opened her eyes and pouted at him.

"Why'd you stop, Puddin'?"

"Daddy needs oxygen, baby. You're like a human vacuum."

They shared a chuckle and Harley pulled him down by his purple lapels into another constricting kiss. Normally he wouldn't allow this, but it was all just part of his plan to sweeten her up.

And then cut her up.

Like a piece of cake.

He giggled into Harley's all-too-welcoming mouth. A piece of cake! That was _too _good.

He had to break away from her, whooping with laughter, and rolled onto his back, almost paralytic. Harley frowned and propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him confusedly.

"What's so funny, Puddin'?"

The Joker gasped for breath and wiped his eyes; the hysterics were slowly passing. Now _that _was better than an orgasm. Why didn't women understand this concept?

"Oh, nothing, Pooh. Nothing that you'd get, anyway."

She shrugged and smiled, then flung herself on top of him and began kissing him again. He tensed up, disgusted by his vulnerable position. Harley noticed his reluctance and thankfully sat back on her heels, allowing him to breathe and sit up himself.

"Aw, Mistah J, you need to relax," she crooned. "You're all tense." She began massaging his shoulders and he grimaced. "Is it because you're nervous? Hmm? I've heard that guys get nervous during their second time with a girl 'cause they're worried about being up to standard."

Nervous? Him? Get _nervous?_

Red flashed through his brain and his fist connected sharply with Harley's jaw, sending her sprawling backwards across the bed with a squeak.

"Harley," he snarled as he loomed over her, "all sorts of rubbish goes through your tiny brain. That doesn't mean it's true. Now are you gonna shut up and let me fuck you, or am I gonna have to call it a night, right now?"

She'd curled up into the foetal position and was quaking.

"O – o – okay, Mistah J. I won't talk anymore. Whatever you say."

The Joker relaxed and began to loosen his tie. "You know, Harl, I think _you_ look a bit uptight. A bit _nervous_. Why don't you take off that costume?"

"I – I need help with the z – zipper," Harley squeaked.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her around so that her back faced him, and yanked down the zip. "Geez, do I have to do everything myself?"

"I'm sorry, Mistah J."

She turned back to face him as she started to slip out of her harlequin suit. Her eyes were indeed full of remorse, and the Joker grinned.

"That's okay, Pooh." He leant in to whisper, "_Daddy forgives you._"

Harley shuddered but this time his words had sparked quite another emotion. He could see the lust gleaming in her wide blue eyes, her delicate body shiver with pleasure, the rise and fall of her chest increase.

She bit her lip.

The Joker raised one dark eyebrow and surveyed her with interest. She wanted to say something, defy him, make a suggestion – but would she dare?

"I don't think you should forgive me," Harley said quietly. He could see part of her wince, but the other, more daring, darker side was winning. "I think – I think you should... punish me."

Now _this _was something she'd never let on before! Of course, it all made perfect sense. She wanted him to hurt her just so she could come to him for protection. He simply _loved _the way her twisted little mind was working. And best of all, she was giving him an excuse to use violence! He almost rubbed his hands together in glee.

"Well I think you may be right, Harley," the Joker said sternly. "You've been very bad over these past few weeks. It hasn't escaped my notice; in fact I've been meaning to do this for some time."

(Just to make her conscience feel less guilty.)

He unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his trousers. Harley watched him with a mixture of apprehension, terror and desire as he sat on the edge of the bed, folded the belt into a loop, and turned to glare at her.

She took the hint, laying herself across his knees, her face red. She gripped the purple bed sheets, ready for the pain, but the Joker knew that soon she'd be holding onto him.

He observed her hourglass figure and slim body, naked but for her red and black underwear. He was aware that she was pretty, beautiful even, but thought that her skin would benefit from a little more – _colour. _

He pulled the ties from her blonde hair and grabbed a fistful of it before smacking her hard across the backside with his belt. Harley let out a cry and grasped the bed sheets tighter. The Joker could feel her heart thudding against his leg, and smiled. He repeated the action, the beatings increasing in speed and strength, until Harley was gasping and tears were trickling down her face. She was clutching him now, hugging his leg and burying her head in his trousers.

"Please, Daddy," came a muffled cry. "That's enough. Please."

The Joker chuckled darkly as he ran a hand over the red marks and multicoloured bruises left by the leather, and then dipped his touch down between her legs.

"I don't think you've had enough, Harley," he murmured as he felt the wetness there. "I think you're crying out for more."

"No," she sobbed. "Let me go. I'll be good, I promise."

She tried to wriggle away but he fisted her hair even tighter and brought the belt down across her flesh once more. Harley shrieked but he barely heard her. Those beautiful shades of the bruises, their dappled edges fading into each other, against a backdrop of stinging red ... the Joker licked his lips. Just _looking_ at what he'd created was making him hard. So sublime, so simple but yet such a work of art ... And it was arousing her, too ...

The Joker closed his eyes and savoured the screams as he yanked on her hair and whipped her without respite, her tiny body shuddering with agony and satisfaction beneath his abuse. Harley began to yell his pet names as if he were bringing her to climax and he soon shook with his own release as he opened his eyes and saw the entire fleshy canvas covered with patchwork-style discoloration. He groaned with contentment as he smoothed a hand over Harley's rear. She was shaking uncontrollably, tears flooding down her red cheeks, hands still clutching his trousers desperately.

"Sit up, Harley," the Joker muttered over her cries. He took her upper arms and tried to pull her up, but she collapsed every time, her eyes screwed tight from the pain.

"I – I can't," she gasped.

"Hold onto me."

She grabbed onto his biceps while he pulled her up by her upper arms again, and soon she was straddling him once more, her face contorted with torture as she rested tenderly on her backside. She didn't let go of him once she was seated; instead she held him tighter, and he kissed her eyes lightly and licked up her tears. This made her giggle; her sobs were slowly dissolving into hiccups.

"There there, Harley-girl, Daddy's got you, it's okay," the Joker murmured, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her forward carefully. She nestled against him and shifted in discomfort, her head on his chest, her hands clutching the front of his shirt. He winced, thinking he'd need her to iron it tomorrow.

He patted her head. "You've been a brave girl."

Harley raised her head and smiled at him through her tears. "Really, Daddy?"

He nodded. "Really. In fact I think you deserve a little reward."

She squeaked with delight and the Joker grinned. Oh, how gullible she was. What would it take for her to learn her lesson?

"Why don't you remove those restricting garments for me, Pooh?" he said, eyeing her admittedly very pretty but completely unnecessary matching bra and panty set. "And then come and lay down beside me."

He patted the purple space next to him. Harley's expression was a mixture of glee and foreboding, her blue eyes full of worry as she carefully eased herself off his lap.

"Be gentle, Mistah J," she suggested meekly.

"Oh, I will, doll-face. I'll be as gentle as I can possibly be."

The Joker chuckled to himself and waited until she'd slipped out of her underwear and gingerly laid down on the bed before getting up and taking off his tie, shirt and trousers. He wanted her full attention. It wasn't difficult to attain. Harley's eyes grew wide as she watched him undress, her gaze roving hungrily over his lean yet muscled torso and his smooth white skin. He hadn't let her see him properly the first time – "You don't want all your presents at once," he'd told her with a laugh.

He knew she'd be impressed.

And, really, he thought as he caught sight of himself in the mirror, who wouldn't be?

The Joker propped himself up on one elbow beside Harley, who looked up at him, her face shining with adoration, dread and desire. The emotions flashing by before him made him grin and he traced a long white finger down her throat, between her breasts and along her stomach. She gazed at him reverently all the while, her skin shivering under his touch.

Then he reached her patch of dark curls and paused, his fingers tantalisingly close to where she ached to be touched. Harley shifted about impatiently, begging him with her eyes to give her what she so desired, but the Joker only grinned.

"You said you'd reward me, Puddin'," Harley pouted, putting on her best flirtatious gaze and reaching up to tousle his green hair. He immediately pinned her hand to the bed.

"No touching," he snarled, "unless I say."

Harley whined with frustration, but the Joker was adamant. She had to learn to be patient.

"Now, Pooh, if you're quiet and you keep still and don't touch me, I'll see about rewarding you."

She nodded obediently, and he once more repeated the journey downwards with his fingers, pausing as before and looking at Harley to gauge her reaction. She was perfectly still and quiet.

"Good girl," he murmured as he slipped his touch in between her legs and began to manipulate her clit. Harley opened her mouth in a silent gasp and fought to keep motionless, clutching the purple sheets as her only way of release. She was already so warm and wet; the Joker was surprised at how pleasant she felt around his fingers, and at just how much this in turn aroused _him. _He was far from a stranger to this; yet it had never quite affected him in the same way as it was now. But he still had control. There was no way he would lose that yet.

It was getting increasingly difficult for Harley to lie still. The Joker could see from her eyes that she was on the point of begging. He drew out the torture for a little longer, smiling at the desperate expression on her face. She whined softly.

"All right, Harley-girl," he said softly. "You've been good."

She visibly relaxed and began to moan as he edged her that little bit closer to climax with each movement of his fingers; her back arched in a quest to make them, or him, enter her, and she gripped his shoulders hard, nails breaking deliciously through his skin.

"Mistah J..." she gasped.

The Joker brought his lips to her ear and whispered, "I'm not going to enter you when you seem to like this so much. It'd be a waste of my efforts, don't you think?"

He chuckled as she groaned. "Please..."

"But we can play another little game."

"No more games ... Mistah J ..."

He hadn't forgotten the broken shards of glass right next to where they were lying, on the floor. Still manipulating her, he reached down with his other hand and grabbed a shard, then settled himself between her legs.

"I thought it'd be fun to see how long you can last," he said, twirling the glass in his fingers. "So. If you climax before I tell you, I'll cut you."

Harley's eyes grew wide with fear and desperation. He knew her orgasm wasn't far off, judging by her ragged breathing and the way her muscles were tensing.

"Oh, don't worry baby, it won't be any old cut. I'll give you something pretty to remember me by, if you're ever left alone."

Her whole body was beginning to shake now. Was it actually the threat of violence that was sending her over the edge? the Joker wondered. Or was it just natural progression? He lowered the glass to the aching centre between her legs and teased her with it; she gasped from its cold touch but arched her back, trying to impale herself onto it.

"You're not so good at this game, are you?"

"I – I can't ..."

And then the orgasm was shuddering through her body like a small earthquake. Harley groaned with release but this turned into a shriek as the Joker sliced through her inner thigh, forming a perfect 'J' in her soft skin. It instantly began weeping blood and he lowered his face to the wound and lapped it up. Harley sat up and gazed down with terror, but when he had drawn away and she could see what he had carved, her face calmed and she traced the bleeding 'J' reverently with a finger.

The Joker grinned. "I said I'd reward you."

She looked up at him, a smile stretching across her pretty red lips. "Oh, Mistah J..."

And now it was time for _her _to reward _him. _He'd ignored the throbbing between his own legs for as long as he could, but now it was almost unendurable. Cutting Harley hadn't given him the release he'd thought it would.

He pushed Harley back down, grabbed her hips, and pulled them up as he thrust into her. She cried out in pain and fisted his hair as he began to drive into her with unimaginable force. The Joker gritted his teeth. He hadn't meant to give in so easily and he felt the urge to punish Harley for the way she'd affected him, for just how _good_ she felt around him, for the way his brain imploded each time she clenched her thighs together. The paroxysms of pleasure crashing through his body made him want to cause violence and see blood and pain and he leant forward and bit the soft area between her shoulder and throat, hard. Harley screamed but he barely heard her as the tang of her blood hit his tongue and rushed straight to his head.

Damn, he was beginning to shake.

Where was that piece of glass? Maybe pain would bring him back to his senses.

He fumbled for it with his good hand, then clenched his hand around the sharp edge, instantly slitting his palm open. He growled as blood spattered onto the purple bedspread and pain rang through his flesh, but even this didn't curb the orgasm that was steadily threatening to consume him.

So punishment would have to do.

The Joker raked the shard of glass swiftly through the shallow flesh alongside Harley's collarbone, just before the climax flooded the whole of his body and he groaned loudly, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over him. Harley shrieked from agony and her own intense orgasm; he could feel her shuddering deliciously beneath and around him before laying still. He collapsed on top of her, the blood from the fresh laceration smearing onto the skin just below his throat. He lacked strength to even dip down and taste it.

What a waste.

Harley's sobs and the amount of blood issuing from the wound told the Joker that he'd cut deeper than he thought. Extracting himself and rolling off her, he went into the bathroom and came back with some surgical sticking plaster and a damp cloth, then sat beside Harley on the bed. She'd sat up by this point and was pressing a wad of tissues against the cut by her collarbone, sniffing, her eyes red and watery.

The Joker gently took her hand away from the wound and pressed the cloth to it. She hissed softly from the sting.

"Shh shh shh," he whispered, putting an arm around her and rocking her. "It's okay, Harley-girl. Daddy's got you."

She whimpered as she rested her head on his shoulder and relaxed onto him.

"I don't think you'll need stitches, sweetpea. I'll just put some of this on it."

He proceeded with the sticking plaster and received no protest; when he was done Harley smiled bravely, her bottom lip trembling. "Thank you, Mistah J."

She was definitely improving, the Joker thought. She'd needed no prompt to be grateful. Maybe his little girl wasn't going to be such a pain after all.

"Could I – could I perhaps stay here with you tonight, Puddin'?"

And then again ...

He looked at Harley. Her blue eyes were shining hopefully up at him, her honest little face bright even after the pain she'd suffered.

"What do _you_ think, Harl?"

END


End file.
